The Rhevireon Chronicle: The Ascent of the West

by Maxwell F. J. Kaeser

  Now, the Magistrate accompanied by the Archmatron stood on the rostrum, Elle Ciel delivered her impromptu first.

  ‘What a synthesis of the arts this epic game was, was? Oh no, come on, our soirée has just begun, right?!!’ when nobody reacted to that, she awkwardly continued anyway,‘yaaay!!! and until start of the second round, let me notify you on behalf of our sponsors, owing to the wise counsel and blessed consent of the Magus, anyone within the Heidentor Grounds will be able to carry on the televoting in minutes from now. With a simple text message, you’ll have the opportunity to share with us your predictions, out of the four great Viragos left, who’s she that’ll win it all? But hold on, best comes last, the biggest prize for that one person who tops the sweepstakes is, a once-in-life chance to step down to the ring, in a fatal confrontation with the victorious Virago, mhm! argh people, whoever’s our martyr, I envy you for such honorable death. Ah, and don’t forget, vote so many times to up your odds. Now to you my Archmatron, sure you’ve got something interesting for us hah!!’

  Promptly, the spectators reached to their mobile phones, far too slack in getting along anything she was going to brag about.

  ‘Much obliged your serenity, and hello everybody!’ said the Archmatron, while she put on a pair of evening gloves, then she carried on,‘without more ado and empty formalities heh heh! Since all of you cognize the effort I’ve invested in choosing them, for your pleasure, and the continuity of our guardians’ guild, the Order Overseers Ordo, and of course the preservation of the Juneautonuan identity, the Fount of Youth tradition; and for this special event of this year, under the slogan: Promoting Unity in the Disunity of the Polity; here are your nine trios!’ she drew it to a hasty close with a tone of rising inflection.

  ‘In other words, a collective polygamic mass.’ Natalya typed down on a pad. ‘It was drunkenness without booze. That’s how anyone present at the scene would describe the situation on the grandstands.’

  The gates opened, and the trigas came out in a column, nine spoke-wheeled chariots went into a circle around the arena, each dragged abreast by seven studs in reins and sandals, a strain of bosky-bearded men trained early on adulthood as ceremonial performers unique to the Occidental Classical Dressage School, and driven by a charioteer behind whom stood the trio, each bridegroom centered his pair of Maidens, they waived to the crowds.

  ‘What?’ he exclaimed when was pulled by the sleeve.

  ‘Look, look that’s my sweetheart, oh Hoyden!’ said a broken heart, Madam Arenithe at the sight of her long missed.

  Long time no see polaris! Dusk remembered. He who sat by Arenithe at the stands alongside the families of every other Maiden, with the exception of those who boycotted the ceremonies, after they’d received that very similar invitation card, from the Larger-Than-Life with love.

  ‘Here, we’re here—’ Arenithe went holloing, rolling a piece of tissue in the air, aggravating the view before some.

  ‘Ahoy, hoy, would you not do that.’ They protested but they soon got intimidated by the wan look from her eyes.

  But Hoyden didn’t notice her, she tried so hard, but couldn’t see him amidst all those people; and all she yenned for tonight was to catch a glance of them for the last time, from whom she was torn apart, Madam Arenithe and especially Dusk.

  Gripping on the running chariot’s handrail, she pulled her hand away when he put his over, her proposed life partner, whom she hadn’t met before this night; a bulky, dimple chinned creature, a triple Os middle-aged Senior, in accordance with his fellow officers, he wore a cutaway mess dress, their formal military evening dress, their brides gussied up in white gowns.

  Completing their third tour, the chariots came to a halt successively at the flight of stairs, to the Altar of the Ashlar.

  The Altar, the groundwork of the Fount of Youth, the origin and the end, the structure which pre-dated the Heidentor itself, situated at the closed-end of the amphitheater, down at the bottom of the block housing the honorary tribune. For as long as they could tell, the edifice had always been there, before the fall of the Republic of Alaska, the rise of the Regnum, or the split-up of Juneau, before the instauration of the Organon, or the decline of monotheism and the consiquent degredation of atheism throughtout the Americas. Mainstream archeology determined it was inspired by the Pergamon, that, with volcanic rock worked into symmetrical ashlar stones it was erected, erst by Christians of the region; today, no mere than an insignificant minority living in peace sise by side to other religious denominations of the Zentrum; and by the anthropological evidence it was theorized this altar held their own mass weddings, which would later influence the Fount of Youth observance; just like how heathenry impinged on early monotheism.

  Under a pious deep roll onto the Timpani drums, the nine triads of nine disparate ethnicities, ascended the steps fringed with a tapering colonnade onto which burned vortices of flame, the visible and invisible fire; hand in hand, reaching the high raised platform of a rough black surface, at the core of which was a pillar, the axis of the cult, atop the pillar was the mesmerising symbol of Aurvanthilism, and its most hallowed physical object after its scripture, with both being the dual paraphernalia composing the cult’s Regalia, in contrast with the Imperial Orb and Scepter, they had the Lex Aurvanthilis and the Aurvanthil solar eclipse, this particular sonnen finsternis was the archetype of the geometrically perfect circle, a gilded circle of a round shield’s radius, had its eight inward broken rays right-facing, inter-crossed a little circle at the center of it; the eight rays embodied the solar corona, being absorbed. It was told to be a gift from the Arkhitekton to mankind; on the first axial precession of planet earth, the first astrological age; reminiscent of a revolving black hole, symbol of the Eklipse as it was also referred to, for the Aurvanthil man, was a reminder of the unconquered sun omniscient, undoer of its evil counterpart the mondfinsternis, and bearer of warmth and light, the primogenitor of life on earth, peace on earth, the succession of the good day and the bad day.

  03:11, the Maidens, sank to their knees before the sacred disk, they waited for the descent of the Magus chaperoned by the Archmatron, his acolyte, from the pulvinar he walked down the steep stairway ending at the altar, grasping at a censer of smoking incense hanging from a chain.

  ‘Everything’s gonna be fine!’ she murmured to Hoyden giving her a shy thumbs up, she was the girl she’d met at the pond, to whom, Hoyden hardly cracked a smile, a dry, and wry smile.

  Into the hot cinders of the incense, the Magus soaked his index, and on the forehead of each he drew a circle of soot. The Magus clockwise passed them by, when it was her turn, Hoyden dared not to hold her head any higher, as she faced the ground she scantly could see the sorcerer’s feet, his silver braided loafers getting closer, and, there he stopped right in front of her, she could hear him humming, reciting verse after verse, and she felt the heat off his censer, and so against her will an eldritch state of reverence overwhelmed her, raising her veil he did her the sigil, and after her partner she underwent the same ritual, the Magus handed them over their green gold Heidentor rings, hence the Senior put the electrum wedding bands into each of his brides’ fingers; the Magus then entrusted them with the Lex Aurvanthilis, brought by the Matron, placed on a cushion, this book was unique in that it was thought to be the master copy, the handwritten by Belhavenard the Harbinger; this book was swathed in antique bandages dappled with dry blood; afterwards, the Magus took a zamack razor, he nicked tip of their pinkies, and at a nod from him, three of them closely placed their little fingers on the LEXAUR, their blood dipped on the vile lint, diffusing, amalgamating together; and at a second nod from him, they exchanged vows, in the Oath of Toth; first, the two Maidens at once were to say it.

  ‘I swear by my blood on the Lex Aurvanthilis, to render undying loyalty to you Geovany Ruvelharts, as a husband and father to our future progeny. So help us God!’ Hoyden shed a tear.

  Then, Senior Ruvelharts;‘I swear by my blood on the Lex Aurvanthilis, as my fealty is
to the Order Overseers Ordo, never will I hesitate to sacrifice the ephemeral days of my life for the welfare of the human race, and my family. So help me God!’ said he.

  ‘By the authority bestowed upon me by the Patriarchs Jurists, and in congurence with Rites of the Aurvanthil Matrimony, I declare you Senior Geovany Ruvelharts and Maiden Hoyden Vergismeinicht, a husband and wife; I declare you Senior Geovany Ruvelharts and Maiden Rania McGuine, a husband and wife; forever, shall your offspring be the karyon of the Order Ovrseers Ordo, same as the Order Overseers Ordo is the karyon of the Organon.’ Averred the delegate, he moved on.

  Geovany kissed his Maidens on her forehead, first Rania, and then her.

  ‘And in lots our trust! Her lot never inuncted the path she’d built on her reveries.’ Nesrin said, who watched from behind the little screen; although there was an air of pensiveness about her, over the tribulation of her lifelong friend, Hoyden; one would be lying, if they said there was nothing more to her eyes. Nesrin sighed, the sigh of deliverance, that she wasn’t part of it, she didn’t have to be there to share her tribulation.

  And with the final trio sworn in, The Magus returned to the rostrum, from there he announced.

  ‘I asseverate the culmination of the the Fount of Youth for this year, please go for the dancing ball!’

  Accordingly, the philharmonic played the intermezzo, le Boléro de Ravel.

  To the Aurvanthil man, the Boléro was more than just a one-movement orchestral piece of a long, long, progressively storming crescendo to which the earth quakes, to them it was the voice of the godhead, the mechanical sound of evolution, of the cosmos, by whom Ravel must’d been selected out of all men to be possessed by, to write down in the language of man’s ear, the Boléro; the minacious shriek of the Transsapience rising on Night of the Viragos.

  The nine triads went down the arena, some of them swept their Maidens off their feet, others did not, notably, Geovany; and not until he danced her to sway, did Hoyden notice her brawny husband limped, Senior Geovany was a cripple, once injured in action; he scarcely was good at suppressing it.

  Dusk, who now had lost contact with whatever was going on around him on the stands, the dance floor had riveted him line and sinker; he sweated with bitterness and began to quiver all over, spite, hatred, disgust, and jealousy, were overpowering him.

  ‘To where?’ Arenithe asked with wonder when he left his seat, Dusk bobbed his head at a vendor not far from them, and as she was yet about to mutter, he carried on to thread his way through the rows towards the man, he reached to his wallet, a security guard checked him out as he was about to draw a note or two, he then got himself a bucket of brittle, the guard passed him by, and he dropped the bucket, in blind animal panic progressed along the wire fencing, he shoved anyone on his way, the searchlight now was directed at him, the security beset his movement and the spectators rose to their feet, the ruckus grew even louder the instant he managed to traverse the protection wall, down into the arena, he’d gotten his shoulder fractured from impact of the fall, the orchestra surceased performing.

  ‘It’s him!’ an expression of disbelief softly escaped her partly opened lips, watching in marvel.

  ‘Who’s this?’ her father asked but Nesrin didn’t respond, having a seat at their living room.

  ‘After him, go, man what are you waiting for??’ Natalya set him off, and poor Matt had but to put up with the inconvenience of her wishes, cropping out of nowhere.

  Dusk kept on to advance aimed at one person, he wailed, he called at her with that shaky voice,‘Hoyden, Hoyden…’ the live streaming was cut.

  The guards were about to encroach on the arena after his head, however with a signal from the Baron, they recoiled out of obedience.

  ‘My men secure themselves, no need!’ he told his Magistrate.

  ‘I assume you got a fan already!!’ puffed up, Geovany said, when Dusk was too near in space and time, so near to him, that he slightly missed his flying fist, the Senior straight off took his offender by the broken shoulder, Dusk collapsed onto the ground in pangs, to the despise of everyone around him. Hoyden terrified, fell to her husband’s boots.

  ‘No, don’t let them, forgive him, I beg you all!’ she said, but the Senior was not to listen, he thrust her aside when she tried to hamper them, his fellow Overseers, who unfastened the brass buckles, and gave in to their belts, they lashed out at a fading Dusk, through the mind of whom sequences from his confrontation with the three Priests were yet arrestingly evocative than ever before, in pictorial reminiscence.

  Quarter-hour later.

  The TV streaming was resumed; and everything appeared to be quite normal, the audience stuck to their seats, the kapellmeister conducted the entr’acte in harmony, and the Overseer Seniors were dancing their Maidens in alteration, everything was in place; excluding, one minute detail; his seat was yet spare, and neither Arenithe was there.

  04:25, the ball came to an end, the nine trios were seated at the honorary tribune; when the skycam zoomed in at Hoyden, a bruise on her arm was visible.

  Athanasius Eisbar sashayed forth the podium, postured before the microphone set and that’s it; didn’t utter a syllable, he only leered at the crowds, the crowds that one day will pitch in his ranks.

  ‘Good evening entertainment nation, or should I say otherwise!’ finally he broke out of his silence, to a good reaction from the grandstands, he continued,‘it’s out-there off-the-wall, what course of events tonight’d taken that it makes me wonder, what next? Huh! you, the guy clutching at the string of a yellow balloon, sitting by the fat mascot, what next? You ma’am, at the flange of the stand, cuddling the baby on your lap, yes you, what next?’Pointing at people from a distance,‘yeah, who could ever tell! Even politicians, the rabble-rouser, cannot provide sound judgment for certain things on a countless occasion, albeit they still act around this, with uncommonsensical justification shoved down your esophagi at every latent opportunity they get, just being who they are, polite chiens, as the definition goes, a politician, is a half actor half intellectual.

  But I’ve something to tell you, the triple Os, though a political entity, politically motivated, and politically mobilised, yet, is not polite-chien-friendly, we are anti-intellectuals who glorify ferocity to establish stability over the transient peace junctures across these fiefdoms, these Boroughs; however, there exist no single case, in which we have resorted to violence as an on the counter option, it has and always will be an alternative, but listen, if that’s the language someone wants to speak, we master it, and gladly we’ll teach it. So to close the curtains on this helluva night, no more voting people, because it’s the Virago time, again.’

  The spotlights zeroed in on the ring, once more, the ring whose ground was intersected by the squares pattern, turning upside down, this time bringing about a surface of coarse-grained ice; Round II.

  The four Viragos entered the arena on ice skates.

  At the focal point of the playing field were four melee weapons empaled, the premodern weapons varied from a pair of tomahawks, a mace, a longsword and a labrys.

  Magistrate Elle Ciel, The Magus, Baron Athanasius Eisbar, and the Archmatron; the nominal umpires of the final, each were delivered a coin, each coin of these pertained to one of the four Viragos, and each Virago signed hers with a distinguishable claw mark on either side; on one side was a the spread-dragon encircled by seven mullets, the Plough stars, while on the other, a sonnen finsternis.

  The Viragos, stood back-to-back, their heads up fixed at the big screens as the cameras closed-up at the umpires, so no cheating be undertaken. Then, in similar fashion, they tossed the coins up into the air, up they rotated end-over-end, the audience held their breath, and down onto back of their hands, the four umpires reverted the coins vice versa and, equally, Vermillion and Maschinenmensha had the sortition to their advantage, that is, the right to have the weapon of their choice, Vermillion went for the mace, Maschi the tomahawks; a second head or tail was carried out so to decide on the
two other Viragos, the labrys or the sword.

  5:00, the conductor signaled to his orchestra to play the Brünnhilde’s Immolation; the Ring of the Nebelung’s Götterdämmerung, Act 3.

  The four Viragos, Vermillion, the girl with the labrys, Maschinenmensha, and the gladiatrix with the magenta hair, Magenta; armed and armored they skied the ice rink targeting one another around, their manoeuvers concomitant with twists of the ice rink, and before anybody knew it the first clash broke betwixt the four in a one fell swoop, from the spark of their weapons clanging together the grandstands ignited, then they split apart, and skied about the rink in concert with chants of the playing music, they cauterized the rink, clipped lines chiseled by their ice skates, and on spur of the moment a second contact occurred, in split second, the damage was beyond the bounds of possibility for the plebeian to conceive; one casualty confirmed, Vermillion’s abdomens lacerated, the girl wih the labrys got eliminated; Vermillion alienated, when Magenta slashed Maschi’s thigh, the latter didn’t resist her, saw to ally herself with the aloof Magenta versus the stronger Vermillion, wounded but as long as she’d the pulse to wield the mace, Vermillion had the hearts of half the stadium, instantly Maschi attacked Vermillion, who withdrew aimed at Magenta, the two had a violent lock of horns at outer-side of the ring, the mace cracked the blade, Magneta lost balance, Vermillion hauled her by the hair, rasped the steel against the ice, to the chest hit she her with the mace, Magenta snatched the fallen labrys, impaling Vermillion, she cried at Maschi to make the move, Maschi casted her tomahawks, she hewed both their skulls asunder.

  Vermillion and Magenta winnowed out; those at the rostrum applauded her, and the ovation she received from the stands deafened the ears; Maschinenmensha reacted to that by doing the Janitors’ work, she scalped her quarry, grabbed scalps of the three female warriors in one hand and gave them the Virago salute.